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the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
William Wordsworth
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William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Mind
Men
Haunt
Thinking
Region
Humankind
Thoughtful
Regions
Main
Song
More quotes by William Wordsworth
That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
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Spires whose silent finger points to heaven.
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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains.
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
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Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.
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Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen.
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Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!
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When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country--am I to be blamed?
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The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
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Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
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Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee thou hast great allies Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
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To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!
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Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
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With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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